Karmic Balance
by swabloo
Summary: Where one good turn deserves another, and a bad one needs to be balanced. Yassen and Ian, working together to rescue the one thing that ties them to each other: a seven year old Alex Rider.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is me, trying to give the Alex Rider section something more than just a few drabbles.

As a small explanation to anyone who might find the length lacking: Don't worry, the chapters get longer. It just seemed the best place to cut it, really.

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter One**

Ian Rider lived a complicated life. If you asked him about it, he would tell you that it wasn't worth boring you with the details. Not that the details themselves were boring, but there were many, _many_ details. (Not that an agent such as him would be so inclined as to tell you all of those details, anyhow.)

But as there were so many details, Ian figured that no one would have the time to look through them, and one would need quite a strong will to really want to get through to them and read the whole damn thing – far more than just one manila folder was needed. And if a nosey someone had the will, well… All the details of _his_ life were secure, and if anyone tried to pry, they would either find themselves at gunpoint, or trapped behind bars as they tripped a trap surrounding the many private files of MI6 agents.

Ian Rider drove to work each and every day secure with this knowledge. Unfortunately for him, on a particular April day, a group of people wanting very much so to know the details of his life with more will than usual, had all the time they needed, and at nine o'clock of a Monday morning actually had a way; for the knowledge on Ian Rider, so usefully bound in several thin, beige paper folders, was not so secure – for only a few minutes, anyway.

* * *

A few miles away, in the bowels of a large, well-known bank, a man looking rather bored with life heaved as he lugged one of the largest, non-descript file cabinets he had ever seen before down an equally plain corridor. He didn't know why the files needed moving, only that he didn't question the orders of his superiors.

What he also didn't know, but would have been very helpful in prolonging his life if he did, was that the many security cameras surrounding that section of the so-called 'bank' were running a loop of footage, and the alarms had been re-wired. What he also didn't know was that at the next turn of the corridor, a dark-clad man would break his neck, dump his body in the nearest closet, and make way with one particular file.

And what he didn't know, really _would_ hurt him.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Here comes the next instalment – ooh, the pace is picking up! Yay, plot!

Disclaimer: I own nada concerning Alex Rider

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter Two**

The half-past-three bell rang shrill, and almost immediately Alex Rider emerged from the school entrance among a throng of children. He said goodbye to Tom, a guy that had just moved into the neighbourhood from Manchester, and tried not to look or feel jealous as his new friend got a hug from his dad and a kiss from his mum as he ran towards them, the family then leaving in the car. Apparently, Tom had an older brother whose birthday was today, so both his parents had picked him up so they could go out for dinner.

Alex sighed, and scanned the yard and street for any sign of red hair, but could not find his new housekeeper, who always picked him up from school. Realizing that she was probably going to be a bit late, he settled down on the steps in front of his school, and waited.

For five minutes.

Ten minutes.

After fifteen, he wondered if he should just take the tube home. Jack had showed him how to last week – but changed his mind, as he remembered one of Ian's strictest rules: Never, _ever_ go outside alone.

It seemed like a strange rule to Alex, but he had learnt over the years to follow even the oddest instructions given to him by his uncle. Wait here, run as fast as you can down that street, only speak German, pretend your name is Klaus, and never, _ever_ talk to strangers, were just a few of them. Most of them were told to him over a holiday, but Alex figured that it was just to get him used to the culture of whatever country he was in.

Besides, pretending to be German had been fun that one time, especially when his uncle had let him play with another boy for hours, and hadn't even said anything when the boy's family had invited him out for lunch! Admittedly, the other boy's parents were already sitting at a café and only offered to buy him a sandwich, but still… It was the thought that counted, right? And the two boys had embellished the moment, anyway – no longer were the German parents simply parents, but top secret super spies! And hidden amongst the lettuce in his lunch were hidden messages; two tomatoes meant he and the other boy had to spin around four times, and if any crumbs fell they had to duck and cover! Their games followed this same train of thought for quite a few minutes, before both boys got sidetracked and started trying to get money for the arcade.

He never did quite catch the bemused smirk Ian had given when he overheard the boys playing.

Alex smiled fondly as he remembered his uncle encouraging him to call the boy's parents 'Mütter' and 'Vater' – it had made the woman grin brightly and give him a hug and tell him, _"__Sie sind liebenswert!"_ And it had only taken him a handful of seconds to figure out that she was calling him adorable. Even if it _had_ been said in the middle of the shopping centre. He'd blushed, and even uncle Ian had been embarrassed for him – had turned away and started looking in the window of a shop, refusing to even glance at the embarrassing moment that the woman was creating.

Daydreaming and lost in his thoughts as young boys often do, he didn't notice the black van pull up in front of the school gates, but he _did_ notice when three men stopped before him. He looked up, smile turning into a frown, as he couldn't recognise any of the faces.

One of the men with sandy hair gave him a friendly grin. It looked awkward on his face. "Hey, you're Alex, right?"

Alex's frown deepened a little, before he gave a short, curt nod.

The man's eyes lit up. "Thought so. Your uncle Ian told me that he was too busy with work and something came up, so he asked us to pick you up."

Immediately, Alex felt himself on edge. Even if Ian wasn't busy with work, he _never_ picked him up. Besides, picking him up from school was Jack's job.

The man didn't seem to notice Alex's uncertainty, as he continued talking. "Well, best get you into the car now, before it gets too late! At this rate, you might miss dinner."

And uncle Ian had told him to never, _ever_ go into a strangers car. The blond boy straightened up, and stepped back up a step or two. "No, thanks. I'm not supposed to talk to strangers."

One of the other men, dressed entirely in black, scowled. "Just get in the car, kid," and ignored the narrowed look he'd gotten from the sandy-haired man.

"I don't really want to." Alex was starting to feel nervous, and felt like running.

The black-clad man darted forward, and grabbed Alex's arm in an iron grip. "Get in the car – now!"

Alex did what he'd been taught to do in situations like these. He screamed loudly, and gave a quick, vicious kick to the man's groin and elbowed him just below the ribs like his sensei had taught him to, then darted around the men and ran.

Unfortunately for Alex, these men were faster and stronger than him. In almost no time at all, one of them had caught him in a grab and twisted his arms behind his back painfully, and another gagged him quickly, cutting off his second yell.

The men dragged him, kicking and muffled screaming, to the black van and threw him in. Quickly, the others got into the car – two in the front and one in the back, to watch him. But luck wasn't on Alex's side that day, as the man who got into the back was wincing slightly with each step and his breath came in wheezes.

He brought down a rope from where it hung from a wall, and was on Alex in a second, bruising his wrists as he coiled the thick, scratchy rope around them. The man stepped back, and eyed Alex with a dark grin. His right hand formed a fist, and it was the last thing Alex saw that day as it came rushing towards him.

* * *

Jack Starbright pulled her car in front of the primary school and parked it, letting out a sigh of relief as she saw a blond child in the playground. She quickly got out, and walked towards the small boy, babbling loudly to him as she went.

"Gods, Alex, I'm so sorry I'm half an hour late! The traffic was crazy – some sort of accident not far from here, too. It blocked the whole roa-" And stopped, startled, as the boy turned around and looked up at her with blue eyes.

"You're… Not Alex." She floundered for a few moments, before looked around the rest of the area, only to find it devoid of any other life. She looked back down at the boy, "You haven't seen another boy around here, have you? Goes by the name of Alex?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno, lady. I aint seen no other kids; I just got here meself."

Something in that didn't sit quite right with Jack. "Why are you here, alone? Are you waiting for someone?"

The boy shrugged, looking bored. "Nah, not really. Some guys gave me a fiver to stand here facing the school though, so I suppose I saw them, but…" He paused, then looked up at Jack with a curious expression. "Hey Lady, is your name Ian?"

Jack's eyed widened, and her eyebrows met her hairline. "Uh, no, but I work for someone called Ian."

The boy looked around, shrugged his shoulders, then languidly handed her an envelope. "Eh, I suppose you're close enough. Them guys told me to give itcha." He seemed intensely bored, and now that his task was done, he left the schoolyard, intent on exchanging his newfound riches for handfuls of sweets.

Jack opened the envelope, and found inside it a neatly penned note:

'_We have Alex. In exchange for him with his body and life intact, we want you, Ian Rider, to present yourself – alone – at the warehouses in district five, at ten AM on Friday the twenty-first_

_Marcus, Nichol'_

Jack, feeling the slight edges of shock, quickly put the letter back into the envelope – only to feel a slight drag as it hit _something_ in the bottom of the envelope. Almost dreading what she would find, she reached her fingers in, and brought out a short lock of blond hair. It wasn't so much that which scared her, but rather how it was stained with several dark brown splotches.

As Jack rushed back to the car where she'd left her mobile, which had Ian on speed-dial, she absently wondered _why on earth_ people would want that of Ian… And exactly what he'd done to enrage someone enough to get Alex kidnapped.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you, my lovlies; your reviews make me feel all warm and fuzzy :)

Disclaimer: I own nada about Alex Rider. Blah. If I did, there'd be more violence.

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter Three**

It was twenty-five to four when Ian's mobile phone went off, while he was busy dealing with paperwork from his last mission. He frowned when he checked the caller Id – why would Jack be calling? He'd told her only to do so if it was an emergency – and she wasn't one to openly flaunt or break his firm set of rules, so…

His blood chilled slightly at the thoughts that followed, and quickly answered the call and pressed the rapidly heating metal to his ear.

"What is it, Jack?"

He heard a sharp intake of breath on the other line, before his housekeeper answered. "It's… It's Alex! Something hah-happened…" He didn't know that she was clutching a lock of blond hair.

"_What_ happened?" Ian sat straight, leaning into his phone. No, no, no – It was just a – a football injury or something, right? It couldn't be anything _really _bad…

Jack paused, trying to think of how best to word her answer, before blurting it all out. "Alex's been kidnapped! They left a note – for you, and…"

"Alright," snapped Ian, "Where are you? I'll be there immediately."

"Outside of Alex's school."

"I'll see you in five," Ian switched off the phone, jammed it into his pocket, and almost leapt from his office as he made his way out of the building. He was almost out before he realized that technically he should still be working, so he quickly told the receptionist to "Tell Blunt that something came up," and all but ran.

Despite usually being a busy area, Ian hadn't been prepared for the traffic-jam caused by an accident on the main road.

"Shit!" He snarled, banging his fists against the wheel, before swerving around and back to the bank. He quickly 'borrowed' one of his colleague's motorbikes, knowing that on this occasion, it wouldn't really matter. The machine roared to life as he swerved into an alley, and Ian reminded himself that he was a top agent of MI6, and they probably owed him.

It helped dull any guilt he may have had when he swerved up and over one of the bank's walls, leaving dark skid-marks in his wake as the bike blazed around the building, slid up a ramp and flew a few meters in the air, and before he knew it, Ian was riding the roof-tops, away from the startled shouts of the MI6 staff that were stationed outside.

Roughly five minutes and many short cuts later, he span into another alley right outside Alex's school and sped towards Jack's car. She had a look of dulled surprise –as if she saw his strange entrance, but didn't really register it- as he screeched to a halt before her, letting out a burst of air that he hadn't realised he'd been holding as he stepped off.

Jack came out to meet him, absently noting with a frown that Ian hadn't been wearing a helmet. "Alright," she began, and fished around in her purse, "Here's the note."

Ian read it, frowning, not understanding. However, when his eye's focused on the signature, his whole body froze, eyes narrowing. Well, damn. At least he now knew the motive for kidnapping Alex.

Jack spotted the change in her boss' demeanour. "What? What is it? Do you know who did this?"

"Yes…"

* * *

Alex woke up when a splash of icy cold dank water hit him in the face. He spluttered, body in slight shock as it recoiled from the harsh change in temperature, before his brain kick-started and he opened his eyes, looking around.

He was in a small, box-like room. There were no windows, not even a bed; the walls, ceiling and floor were made out of concrete. It had a flat, desolate feel to it.

When Alex tried to sit up to face whoever was standing over him, empty bucket in hand, he winced, his head throbbing from the movement. He leant back down with a whimper, and brought a hand up to gently prod his face. He hissed when his fingers reached the dark bruise on his left cheek, the lid under his eye also sporting purple. There was a bitter, coppery taste in his mouth as his tongue probed the skin, and each move the muscle made sent a spasm of pain throughout his face. Alex squinted up, and saw, with dismay, it was the same man that he'd kicked in the groin.

"Get up!" The man growled, yanking Alex up by the collar of his shirt. Alex gagged slightly as the material tightened around his neck, before he was dumped on his feet and swayed slightly, attempting to regain his balance. His shoulder was gripped tightly as he was roughly led out of the room. As they walked, his guard began talking to him.

"Alright, listen up. This is one of the only times you'll be let outta that cell, other than bathroom breaks. You'll get your food delivered once a day, and there'll always be someone outside that door of yours, so don't even think about trying anything funny."

They ground to a halt outside of a mahogany door; the man hadn't noticed Alex's eyes darting about the corridors as they went. There was nothing about this door that made it stand out or seem important, but the black-clad man seemed sure of his destination. He reached out with his free hand and rapped thrice against the door with his knuckles.

A low, raspy voiced replied. "Enter."

And they did; the door creaked open as Alex was pushed inside, to be greeted by a waft of thick smoke. As the smell of nicotine hung in the air and lingered, Alex watched the trails as they escaped the room through the open door. He wished he could follow.

Then, the door slammed shut and he looked up guiltily into cold blue eyes. The man behind the desk had short, dirty blond hair and tanned skin. His face was marred by several wrinkles and an ugly scar that wound its way from the outwards edge of his left eyebrow to his jaw. It didn't taper off nice and neat, but rather seemed to twist into his hair.

A thin eyebrow quirked, as the man behind it noticed Alex's stare. "Like my scar, do you?" The man smirked, causing the skin around the scar to wrinkle and crease. "Want to know how I got it?"

Alex didn't know how to answer; He was intrigued, but at the same time, afraid, especially with how the man's voice seemed to have dropped to dangerous levels with his last remark. Who was this man? Why had he arranged for him to be kidnapped? He didn't answer, but the man told him anyway.

The man touched a finger to the top of the scar by his brow. "Someone tried to gouge my eye out. But they missed," His finger trailed the scar as it followed down his face, "And then tried to rip my throat out." He reached the point where it twisted, then swiped his finger quickly across it, sharp and fast. "I twisted my head, and instead almost got my ear sliced off." The man let out a chuckle, opened the top draw under his desk, and brought out a sharp-looking, polished knife. He stood and bent over the desk, poising the edge of the blade on Alex's cheek, a deranged look in his eyes. "Do you know how much that hurts…?"

Alex's breath hitched slightly, but he forced himself to be still. Even though his skin tingled in an awfully unpleasant manner where the metal of the knife touched it, there was no way he could step backwards; that brute of a guard was right behind him.

The blond man grinned, then tucked the knife away and sat back. "No, of course you wouldn't. I bet uncle Ian's been protecting _you_, eh?"

Alex frowned, not liking the tone of the man's voice. "What do you know about my uncle?"

The man's eyes darkened, expression stony. "I know enough about _that man._ And I'm Not _'You'_, I'm –"

* * *

"Nichol Marcus. Shit." Ian cursed again, "I thought that bastard was dead." He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "As if my life wasn't complicated enough. Damn, damn, fucker."

Jack, despite the situation, found Ian's response amusing. "Since when did you swear so much?" What happened to that cool, collected, always calm man? Was this how he acted when he was stressed?

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. Since I started working, I guess." He then lapsed into swearing in German.

Jack paused, then decided it was best to voice her concerns before he started off in Italian, and silently wondered at why working at a bank would make one so stressed. "Ian, what are you going to do? Is there anything you _can_ do, other than, you know, trading yourself?" Even if her mind felt muddied by confusion, sorrow, and a touch of angst, she tried her best to appear calm and collected. After all, bawling her eyes out until her face went an ugly pink wouldn't do Ian any good, and certainly nothing for her makeup. Good God, she would look like a hag if her mascara ran.

She wasn't being vain; far from it. Rather, trying to focus on the little inane things that kept her from frantically worrying about the little boy in her care.

Her words managed to get through to the MI6 agent, causing him to still in his rant. "You're right, Jack," He conceded, then swung a leg over the motorbike. "I've got to get home, find all the information I have on this guy…"

The housekeeper frowned. "Shouldn't we tell the authorities? Can't they help?" The fact that he would supposedly have information on a random criminal went unspoken, although Jack swore up and down she would find out just what the heck was up with the Rider family as soon as she got a moments opportunity.

Ian, just about to set off, twisted in his seat and shook his head. "No. Whatever you do, don't tell _anyone_. Not even your father's cousin's best friend's daughter. You never know who's listening and who's on Alex's side. If this gets out, and we go to the authorities… One of Nichol's spies will find out about it, and kill Alex. If they think a lot of people are looking for him, I doubt they'd take the risk of him leaking any information about them. No, I have to sort this out, alone." His bike roared to life, and within moments Jack could no longer see him, once again alone next to her car and the school.

She sighed, shoulders slumping as she clambered into the vehicle and prayed to whichever God was listening that Alex was okay.

* * *

Unfortunately, all of the gods must have been either deaf, on vacation, or just plain rude, as Alex was far from okay. Once again crammed into a tiny cell with no food and no sunlight, things didn't seem to be looking up for him.

He sniffed and rubbed his eye – _dirt_, just a little dirt or dust got in, honest – then flopped himself on the floor and gazed up at the thick metal door. Would Ian barge in any moment now, swing him up in his arms and gallantly carry him to safety, like a knight in shining armour?

Alex snorted at the vague image of his uncle dressed in metal and trying to wield a large sword. Nah, that wouldn't happen. Not only was it silly and childish (he had to remind himself there that fairytales never happened and happy endings weren't guaranteed), but there was no way Ian could ever be a swordsman or anything like that, really. He was a banker; one of those guys who spent their days decaying behind a desk and a stack of paper. What would he do if he actually did come? Throw some numbers and financial forms at the bad guys?

The young boy's wild imagination managed to carry this little daydream further, before it slowly dwindled and was grasped by the sheer emptiness of the room. Alex opened his eyes and looked around – or at least, tried to. He drew his knees to his chin and let it rest there, squeezing his eyes shut to the oppressive darkness all around him, a bitter taste in his mouth.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: If you squint hard, you'll catch a character I know you guys have all been waiting for… enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nada, zip. I don't own any Alex Rider books, unfortunately.

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter Four**

It had only been a day, and already Alex was longing for the comforts that he usually took for granted. Not things like food or a warm bed – he already knew not to take those for granted, not after what Ian had told him about all those other kids in that country where they didn't have anything like that.

No, the things he missed were small and subtle. Waking up to find he could still taste something horrid and bitter on his tongue, he longed for his toothbrush to scrub it away. And he'd love a fresh change of clothes, too – his were starting to get stiff and crusty, dry from the mud they'd been splattered with from his games of football at school with Tom.

Tom… Now, there was something else that he missed: companionship. And not just any kind, either, but the friendly one – where they didn't tease you with water or kick you with hard, steel-capped boots that left blossoming bruises on his already sore body.

He cracked open an eye, heavy and prickling. He hadn't been able to catch even a wink of sleep; the cold, hard floor was too unfamiliar, and the constant, looming presence of a guard kept him at unease.

It was, of course, when Alex was feeling his worst when a small glimmer of hope came to him.

The guard was changing shifts.

That act, in and of itself, was nothing unusual – the guards had been rotating duty every four hours, to break up the monotony and to make sure everyone was feeling fresh whilst on the job – but this time, it was different. He'd seen the guy shift his weight from foot to foot for the past half hour with increasing intensity. And just now, Alex had heard him mutter, "Fuck it, any longer and I'll burst. Kid'll be fine until the next guy starts his shift…"

This was followed by the man quickly sprinting away, presumably to the bathroom.

Now, this is where you have to remember; whilst our Alex was just a little boy, he was also a sly, cunning one. And when he'd been given a morsel of food earlier, he'd managed to wedge both of his shoelaces between the door and its frame. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to stop the lock from sliding into place.

As soon as the guard had gone, Alex sprang to his feet – well, tried to; he didn't quite have the energy for anything like that yet - and slowly but carefully managed to pry the door open, quietly as possible. Luckily, the metal slab didn't scrape against the floor.

Alex was free – or at least, more free than he had been eighteen hours ago. Now, here is something else you have to remember: Alex _was_ just a little boy. He hadn't yet developed a mature sense for sneaky-ness and subtlety. Which was why, as soon as he was out of his cell, he ran for it.

As he ran through the twisting, winding maze, adrenaline pumped through his veins. And then, the oddest, most unfortunate thing happened.

His legs collapsed beneath him.

He yelped, the fall knocking the breath out of his lungs as he gasped, trying to push himself back up while he still had the chance. As he struggled, he lost his head start; several guards swarmed him, tying his arms behind his back and one gave him a harsh punch for good measure.

The bitter taste welled in his mouth and he spat, blood mixed with his saliva. His head felt dizzy; the world spun and grew fainter by the second. But even as bile rose up his throat, he managed to focus in on something walking towards him – a woman? He thought she might have looked shocked, her eyes widening as she stared at his face.

He tried to stare back, but through the haze it was impossible, and felt himself slip into unconsciousness as her muffled voice questioned the men that held him.

* * *

Julia Rothman was at a loss for words.

It didn't happen often, and would probably never happen again. Still, the shock of seeing a young boy that resembled John Rider so greatly, falling into the throws of delirium, down on the ground and being roughly bound in rope by several large, muscled guards… It was unexpected, to say the least.

She stared down her upturned nose at the blond boy, who seemed to struggle in tilting his head to catch a quick glance at her. His energy spent, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slumped, caught by the guard behind him.

"What on Earth is going on?" Her voice rang out sharply, and the guards – no longer preoccupied in containing the boy – noticed her arrival with wide eyes. The guard nearest to her opened and closed his mouth several times, reminding Julia of a helpless, clueless guppy, before she sighed and saved the guard some trouble.

"Never mind, I'll ask Marcus myself. Take me to his office."

The guard that had previously had trouble even starting to explain the odd situation to her blushed in embarrassment, and hurried to lead the way. She followed at her own pace, giving one last thoughtful look to the boy that was now unceremoniously slung over one guards shoulder and was being carried away to who knows where.

Her lips took a slight tilt throughout her meeting with Nichol, and once business had been dealt with, she asked the man a question she had been longing to ask since the incident in the hall.

"Why was there a boy out in the corridor?"

Marcus stiffened, his eyes wide. "I – what? A boy?"

"Yes. A small blond one. He was being tied up by some guards."

Marcus relaxed. The fact that Alex had escaped was news to him; he'd been in a meeting with Rothman, after all, and had ordered not to be disturbed by anything until the powerful woman had gone.

He paused, wondering how much to tell Julia. "He's just a boy. I've had him kidnapped – a bargaining tool for revenge against his uncle, who has caused me quite a bit of personal pain." His hand, subconsciously, idly stroked the ugly scar on his face.

"His Uncle? Anyone I might be aware of?" She was curious as to the man's identity; it might show a link to John, if her gut feeling was correct.

The man shrugged. "Perhaps. He's an agent for MI6 – Ian Rider, he's called."

Julia didn't let the slight shock show on her face. She gave him a half smile, "No, doesn't ring any bells."

That was a lie, of course. Church bells were thundering through her mind as she quickly made the connections; She'd known that John had a brother named Ian, and no other siblings. For Ian to be the boy's uncle… Well, that could only mean one thing, couldn't it?

After she'd left, and had made her journey back to her organization's base, a morbid amusement had arisen inside her, and the irony of seeing Yassen coming out of a debriefing at Scorpia's current headquarters caused a mad giggle to well up inside her, and spill from her ruby lips.

The assassin paused in his steps, and looked at her curiously. "Yes?" His tone was hesitant; the look Rothman had given him was half-crazed, half-gleeful. He wasn't quite sure whether or not he should approach her and see what had unbalanced her so, or if he should just flee in the opposite direction, duty be damned.

She giggled again, smirking wickedly. "Funny thing, running into you just now. I met a mutual acquaintance of ours earlier, you know." Her eyes looked passed Yassen and glazed slightly, her mad look of amusement turning foul.

Yassen frowned. What was she on about? Their only mutual acquaintances where the people they worked with – and why would _they _cause her to react like this…?

Julia quirked her lips, and began walking again, talking almost absently at Yassen as she continued on her way down the corridor. "You remember John, right? John Rider? Heh, his kid looks so much like him…" Her expression turned stony. _He should have been mine._

As her back was to him, she didn't spot Yassen's wide-eyed look of surprise, quickly followed by a pang of worry and dread. The Russian knew that the only place Rothman had gone that day was to Nichol Marcus' base – which meant that she'd seen Alex there, which meant… Shit, he'd been kidnapped.

And Yassen knew that he had to do something about it.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: whoops, sorry for the long wait! My schedule's been hectic, but I finally got around to finishing this chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Lamentablemente, Los Alex Rider libros no son mios.

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter Five**

It was cold when he woke, with aching limbs and a horribly bitter taste in his mouth. It weighed heavily on his tongue, nauseatingly thick. It tasted like sickness, and his stomach complied as his head lolled to the side to vomit on the floor.

A disgusted sound came from in front of him, where a man – a face he didn't recognise – sneered down, eying him with distaste. The man rolled his eyes at the sight of the bruised, pale child lying next to his own sick, merely muttering on the bad smell. He hauled the boy up onto his feet, leading him out of the door, with force when necessary.

Alex, despite feeling queasy, recognised the path they were taking as they stopped outside the same nondescript door as before. He felt a stone drop in his stomach; he really didn't want to meet that scary man again.

Nichol smiled at Alex from behind his desk, beckoning the child to sit. It was about time to put this boy straight, and tell him his limitations; previously, he hadn't thought it necessary, as the mere thought of this boy managing to escape as far as he did had been laughable. No, he wouldn't underestimate this boy again. It was a good thing he was a paranoid man, and had already taken precautions.

"Alex," he began, injecting familiarity into the tone. "You've been rather naughty lately, haven't you?"

The boy squirmed in his seat, looking everywhere but at him.

Nichol continued, "As you know, Alex, I have your best interests in mind. And because I do, I think it's only fair to warn you about a little something we put in you."

Alex froze. What? What had they done to him?

"Don't worry boy, it was only a little injection. And it only works under certain circumstances."

Alex finally looked up at him, a fearful determination in his eyes. "What… What circumstances?"

"Adrenaline. Every attempt you make to leave your cell or this building will cause at least a little bit of adrenaline to pump through you as you run, sneak, or hide. The serum reacts to the activity from the adrenal gland, and once it reaches a certain point the serum slows the connection between your brain and your limbs before it stops, leaving you unconscious. Don't worry, that's just a precaution – as soon as you lose consciousness, the serum withdraws and becomes harmless once more. You understand; it's so that you don't push yourself enough for it to kill you."

Alex was quiet. He didn't quite understand what Nichol was trying to tell him – wasn't sure he even wanted to know, really. But what he did figure was that he was a prisoner with invisible shackles. He knew it to be the truth, as earlier he'd felt that surge of – of _something_, poisoning his system once his heart had begun to beat faster from his nervous, frightened sort of excitement.

Ian… Ian would still come. Alex knew it. He was his uncle – he loved him – how could he _not?_

But, as another day passed by, Alex's surety that Ian would come started to dwindle. Was he really by himself?

oOoOoOo

The man in question held doubts of his own. He worried about Alex, every minute of each goddamned day. He thought of him; poor, sweet, innocent little Alex that would come out of this encounter more jaded than he'd ever hoped. He'd wanted Alex to live, and be a normal, albeit well trained child. Not be brought into a sick man's games.

He'd known that it was inevitable. His past – and John's – was bound to catch up with Alex sooner rather than later. That's why he'd trained him – devoted so much time into cultivating Alex into a finely honed, but not yet ready machine. Because Alex _had_ to be ready, as quick as humanely possible.

Because Ian didn't want Alex to die. He wouldn't let him, not if he could help it, and he would try his hardest. He already knew the location his nephew was in; it was a large building, in the outskirts of London, where the industrial, run down section began. He'd scoped the place out; it had guards, of course. Plenty of them; men who soldiered up and down the perimeters and most likely the corridors too. They weren't just protecting Nichol, or even Alex (he doubted if most of them even knew of the kidnapped boy); no, they were paid to keep people away from what was being manufactured and traded inside.

It was the most cliché thing for a 'bad guy' to do, yet it was also the most common, and a good way to create wealth and power. Because a lot of people depended on drugs, and if you owned the drugs, you owned the people; and with the huge quantity that was being manufactured, he reckoned that Nichol owned a _lot _of people.

It was a power structure that had wormed its way into each corner of London, and he felt fear of the consequences should he cut off the head. It would cause a power struggle of drunks, beggars, druggies and a lot of violent, psychotic men. Whilst he certainly didn't approve of drugs, they at least pacified and mellowed a lot of dangerous people.

It was then, as he was sat at his desk, paper in hand, when a noise he wasn't expecting appeared.

_Rap-a-tap-tap._

Ian stilled in his work as the sound of knuckles on wood echoed throughout the large, relatively empty house. Jack was still sleeping; after all, it was two in the morning.

_Rapataptaptap._

The sound was faster, more hurried and impatient. Grabbing the sleek metal of his gun – who would be calling at this hour? – And holding it behind him, He approached the door and peeked through the eyehole.

A man, taller than he, stood on the other side, black hood casting his face in shadows. He stood tall and lean, well built, but Ian couldn't see who it was, and that bothered him. His grip on the gun tightened.

"What do you want?" He asked, low and even. The reply was immediate.

"To help." It held no trace of an accent, but Ian had learnt not to always count on that.

"What with?"

"Alex."

Ian's mind went blank. That, he hadn't been expecting. After all, no one but him and Jack even knew that something was wrong with Alex. Which meant that either this man had inside information, working with or for Marcus. It wasn't a deduction that set him at ease.

"Who are you? Why do you want to help him?" Growled out Ian, in no mood to play word games. The faster he knew what was going on, the better.

"I am – was – a friend of John's." An unknown emotion hitched the man's speech as he corrected his tense, apparently all too aware – and still hurting from – that John was dead.

Ian was in no better position than he was before. He didn't know anyone that new of both those people, at least not anyone that could help, or even be willing to help. Aiming the gun, He opened the door a crack, peering out into the darkness.

"Who are you?" He repeated.

The reply was not reassuring. "Don't shoot. I want to help; just let me in, first."

No. Ian would not play that game. "Who. Are. You?"

The man on the other side hesitated. Ian clicked the safety off. "You're not getting in unless I know _exactly _whom I'm dealing with."

The other man gave a resigning sigh, paused, then lowered the hood. Ian stared, wide eyed, at the blond-haired Russian visage. He pulled the gun up and aimed it squarely.

"What the hell, Gregorovitch?"

Yassen gave him a look, rising his hands, open-palmed, at shoulder height. The classic 'I surrender' pose, albeit with a mocking air.

"Let me in, Ian. I only want to help."

Ian thought on it for a few seconds. On one hand, this was a highly dangerous, trained terrorist slash assassin that worked for the despicable organisation that killed his brother and sister in law. On the other hand, he also knew that on the few occasions John had talked to him about his long-term mission, he'd mention Yassen in a favourable light; even mentioned once that he'd even trust the Russian with his life.

It was a question between Ian's trust in the government and his trust in his brother.

Slowly, with a steady arm, he lowered the gun, putting the safety back on and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers, never lowering his gaze. "Alright," He opened the door and stepped back, "but don't let down my brother's trust in you."

Yassen quietly let out a breath of air he'd been holding. _Fantastic._ He'd had no idea if it would work or not, but it had been the only way, really, to contact the English man. If he'd tried to sneak in or something along those lines, he knew that Ian would've shot to kill.

Great. Now all he had to do was convince him not to shoot now that he was invited into the house.

They sat down at the kitchen table, both men eying each other.

"Alright," Yassen began, "John was my mentor. He saved my life; I can't save his, but I can help his child."

Ian nodded. "How did you find out about Alex's situation? Is Scorpia involved?" If it were, then Alex would likely never get out alive. Children just couldn't match up to that.

The Russian, thankfully, shook his head. "No. We only have a few connections with the company, what with the whole drug business; one of our members spotted Alex the other day when they went to meet with Nichol, and recognised the similarities between him and John. I already knew of Alex's existence; it was pure coincidence that he was mentioned to me.

"I can't directly do anything. At least not by myself; if I did, it would look suspicious. But if _you _rescued the child, then all possible suspicion would fall off me. Normally, I would_ only_ be caught dead working with you."

It was a sound, if slightly skewed reason, but Ian would take it anyway, because Alex needed all the help he could get. (And so did he, but he would never admit _that_.)

"Although, I have to wonder. _Why_ did Nichol kidnap Alex?" Yassen stared hard at Ian, his silently accusing eyes demanding a truthful answer, and Ian complied.

"It was before Marcus became head of that drug business. It was why he became head." Sighing, Ian looked down and frowned. "I got into a fight with him and his older brother. I had to kill them; it was part of my job, you understand. During the fight I scarred Marcus and killed his only family; he's held a bit of a grudge on me because of it. Can't say I blame him, really," He raked a hand through his hair, "I can only say that I should've killed him back then."

"Why didn't you?"

"I thought he _was _dead. I just had no time to confirm it; I had to get out of there, fast. I only found out the truth weeks later, when word of the new head got around; and by then, I was already working on a different mission, so I wasn't sent to finish the job."

The Russian looked amused. "MI6 would actually send an agent to kill someone?"

Ian laughed. "No, we're not all contract killers like you. It would have been under guise of a 'proper' mission; Nichol would have been classed as an unfortunate, but necessary casualty, that we were glad to get rid of."

After that, they decided to get down to business; Yassen produced documents he'd filched from Scorpia, and they worked (schemed) well into the morning, stopping only when footsteps sounded on the floor above, telling them that Jack had woken up. They couldn't risk Yassen being seen by anyone, so he quickly left, hood up and shades on. He looked silly, but with his head down, he wouldn't be recognised by anyone who knew his face (Ian had suggested he wear a fake beard; Yassen told him he could shove it in an anatomically impossible manner.)

Alex Rider had brought these two unlikely men together, and they would not let him down.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hey guys – sorry for the long wait! This chapter has been stored in my school files; I've been writing it in my spare college time when I've got nothing else to do… Unfortunately, my college time is now precious, with several project deadlines coming to a head. I'll still have time to write at home, though!

(As a quick note to those who read The Unlikely – rejoice! Chapter six is half finished! ... I just need to figure out a way to proceed with the next half… Sorry about the stupidly long wait…)

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter Six**

The night was dark and the wind was cold, but adrenaline burned bright and hot through Yassen and Ian as they scaled a low-cut iron fence and began skirting around a large, seemingly abandoned warehouse (if not for the occasional glance of a guard outside or a creamy pale flash of a face through a window). Yassen, with a keen eye and tensed for any movement, saw a shadow shift in the corner of his vision, and began indicating to Ian with his right hand – the motion of danger, hide.

Quickly, they dropped, pressing themselves into the ground, the earthy smell of uncut grass and moist soil suddenly smothering their senses. They felt quite glad of the combats they were wearing, allowing them to blend into the ground in the dim light of a crackling, faded lamp and a faraway moon. A guard, not fifteen feet away from them, paused in his shift. He looked around, first left then right, gun held slackly in his arms as if in carelessness of the potent power the sleek metal could wield (Yassen and Ian were all too aware of it with their own cold metal pressed warningly against their thighs). The guard, apparently pleased with what he saw – or didn't see – continued on his way.

Once the man was safely out of range, the two men slowly stood back up. Carrying on in the same direction, they stopped short of a seemingly normal window; however, if Yassen's information was right, then this one didn't lock properly and should open with the slightest twist. Underneath Ian's hands, the lock moved – they held their breath as it made an almost inaudible click. He managed to shift the window open, slowly, so as to make no noise.

They had to be quick. Only forty seconds until the next guard would come in sight.

Tick tock, tick-tock - the seconds ticked by - the sound of footsteps ever closer – tick tick tick - yet somehow, through controlled movements and fluid teamwork, they managed to both get through the window and drop quietly to the floor on the other side, with only three seconds to spare.

_Tocktocktock_

They froze where they were, crouched on the floor, faces close but unmoving as their breath held still. The footsteps, ever louder, sounded on the other side of the window. They pounded and echoed through the resounding quiet. Ian felt his heart slow, pumping more desperately as he waited until the sound outside completely dissipated, before letting out the trapped air in a long, low hiss. That had been close; too close, in fact. They would have to hurry up, or their window of opportunity would be gone forever.

It was a slow process, making their way through the silent building that was only occasionally awash with the hubbub of guards and workers going about their day; it felt abandoned and dreary, debris scattered across the lower levels amongst litter and dead pests.

After ten minutes, they reached a section of the building that broke up into many corridors, each one looking identical and dreary, with a sterile feel under the electric hum of the cheap, unsafe wiring. None of these held a scattering of dust or garbage unlike those they'd previously travelled through, although these walls were painted; a clear matt blue, none of it chipped or faded, but still the feeling of un-cleanliness pervaded the halls. Ian found himself infinitely glad that Yassen had managed to filch a copy of the warehouse's blue prints; otherwise, without already having memorized the layout, they would have become hopelessly lost.

It took another ten minutes to navigate their way, until they came near the area they knew Alex was kept in. Stopping short of the room itself, the quickly got into another just around the corner before any guards might spot them. Yassen kept watch by the door, opening it a crack to let light from the corridor spill in. Ian stared at his watch as the seconds ticked on, anticipation building, morbid flashes of seeing Alex lying broken and bloody on the other side. If this didn't work… Well, he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

Thankfully, it seemed that Lady Luck was with them as, at exactly eight pm, they heard the tinny garbled ring tone from a mobile phone go off. They heard a man - a guard – answer in a deep, baritone voice.

"Hey… Who? An accident?... I can't, I'm at - … I'm, I… You what?... Yes…. Yes… Yes of course, I'm on my way…" With an electronic beep, the guard hung up and raced down the corridor away from them - but more importantly, away from _Alex_.

It was done; their trap was sprung. Now they had exactly nineteen minutes to get Alex out of the building.

Waiting for the echo of the guard's footsteps to fade, the two men quickly went into the corridor and immediately began working on the cell door; It was locked, but thankfully, Yassen had also managed to get hold of a key; Ian didn't know how, as the Russian wasn't too keen on readily divulging that information. Ian wasn't sure he really wanted to know either, as the answer didn't seem all too pleasant.

The heavy door swung open with a muted thud against the wall, the movement raising the tension in their bodies, muscles tensed, eyes squinting into the darkness-

-only to find their hopes cruelly dashed as what greeted them was only emptiness.

Yassen cursed foully in Russian, scowling at the cell. "Did they know we were coming?"

Ian thought about it – but, no, they couldn't have. They'd been too careful; yet, despite all their planning, the timing of the operation couldn't be helped by the unexpected variables. "We were just unlucky with the timing." He huffed, raking a hand through his blond hair. "Come on. We need to find him; he's got to be somewhere in this damnable building."

"Spread out; we'll find him faster that way. You got your buzzer?"

Ian, now already making his way down the corridor, waved a hand back at Yassen, his other slightly skimming along his own 'buzzer'; It was neatly placed in the shell of his ear, small and barely visible. When pressed in a manner that cracked it open slightly – one would have to wedge their nail inside – the corresponding 'buzzer' would start to emit a quiet, low frequency buzz, audible only to those who wore it. The closer to the partnered buzzer, the higher the frequency would go; it wasn't a particular fast gadget to get working, but as they already knew the layout it was the best they had. It was the only tracking device Ian had been able to borrow from that gadget technician at the bank – Smithers, his name was. The man hadn't asked any questions, only gave him an indulging smile. No, the 'buzzer' had been scrapped for practical use not long ago as it just wasn't very useful to field agents; after all, their partners were not often trapped or captured within the same building.

Still, it was useful for their little illegal operation, and Ian wasn't about to pass up any opportunity to have any sort of edge.

Ian, with a fierce walk and an even fiercer look, stalked down his chosen corridor and began counting up the seconds in his head.

3… 2… 1… They only had eighteen minutes to find Alex Rider.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Well, here it is. The final installment… I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

**Karmic Balance**

**Chapter Seven**

It fizzled and sparked, taunting him as it danced up and down and snapped, hissing a sharp blue rage. From behind, a sudden force impacted, head lurching forwards and bruising. The world spun as Alex squinted up at Marcus, hand still firm and poised.

"Don't touch that," he warned, despite how Alex would never have approached the open wiring. The way it hummed quietly set something ominous inside of him, the fear of being burned keeping him still.

Marcus looked down at the little boy with disgust, and crouched down so that his breath was hot against Alex's face as he spoke with hard, harsh words. "He's left you for dead, Alex." He sneered. "Last day. Time's up." A frightening, twisted look overcame the man's scarred features, eyes bright, pupils dilated. He bared his teeth in Alex's frightened face. "Two hours left, darling Alex…" From his jacket pocket, he withdrew a dagger, sharp and gleaming in the electric light.

Alex tried to scramble back, but was jerked forward by a fist in his blond hair, head snapping forward with an uncomfortable wince. Marcus was no longer sneering. He was smiling; the look of the gruesome grin sent shivers down his spine.

The man gave a dark, rumbling laugh. "How_ever_ will we pass the time...?"

* * *

Yassen was the first to hear it; the terrifying, blood chilling scream, echoing down the corridor. He felt himself tense as he recognised it as a child's voice – and wished Ian hadn't gone in the opposite direction. Quickly, with a silent rage possessing him, he flicked on the buzzer and sped down the corridor, hurling himself into a nondescript door. It wrenched open, revealing Alex pinned to the wall, Nichol holding him in place, dagger against his ribs. At the sound of the assassin's entrance, Marcus quickly pressed the dagger against Alex's throat, regarding Gregorovitch with a wild look.

A look of understanding passed over the man's face, a smug grin falling into place. "_Yassen? _I would have expected Ian – but _you_?" He laughed (Yassen didn't miss Alex's flinch), dagger slipping slightly, a thin line of red blossoming on the boy's fair skin. "My _beef_ isn't with you. Leave, and I _pretty promise_ I won't tell."

Yassen felt cold dread grip him with icy fingers. The man was _insane_. One wrong, or sudden move – and Alex would be dead.

"Oh, come on, don't look so glum – can't you see I'm _smiling?_" There was a flash of wicked grin, and the jagged scar stood out against his paling face. His eyes suddenly narrowed. "Where's Ian?"

"He's not here." Yassen replied, disliking the sudden depressed look that overcame Alex's whole body, which had previously perked up at the sound of his Uncle's name.

Marcus snorted. "You want me to believe you've come alone?"

The Russian gave him a tight, wry look. "We don't exactly get along."

Marcus fully turned to him then, judging what kind of threat the man posed – and, as his focus was captured, he let the knife drop back to Alex's ribs –

Like a shot, the boy sprung, jerking himself to the floor, and in the moment a surprised Marcus turned back to him, he _pulled_ –

There was no scream – no last yell of crazed defiance. Only an uncontrollable, incessant shaking that wracked the man's whole body, twitching and jerking, piercing blue electricity dancing across his skin. Dagger stuck in an iron-fisted grip – jerking far too close to Alex's head for Yassen's comfort.

And Alex… _Alex_. Ashen faced, eyes wide, a bundle of wires gripped tightly between both his hands, shoved under the hem of Marcus' trousers.

Alex stared up at the man – jerking twitching mouth open in silent _scream –_

_BANG._

- the force of the blow sent Nichol spinning into the floor, limbs still twitching, flaying about him; eyes rolling into the back of his head, his lungs gave out one last gasping breath of air, chest still jerking – and _shit_, the man had twisted into Yassen's bullet – the spray of hot, salty blood dripping all over Alex's face as the man fell dead, bullet in his head.

Quickly tucking the gun back into his trousers, Yassen raised his hands, open palm, and slowly approached the boy – blonde hair brown eyes _painfully familiar –_

"Alex?" he cautiously ventured. Glazed eyes snapped towards his approaching figure. He stilled, watching as the wires still sparked in the little boy's hands. "Alex…" He repeated, trying to coax him back into the present. "Put the wires down, Alex."

Instead of letting go, Alex's fingers clenched even tighter around his electrifying weapon. One finger slipped forward – dangerously close. With a pinched look, he looked from the wires, to the man smelling of burnt flesh. He shifted, wary eyes on the assassin. "Stuh – stay back – I'll do it – I'll… I'll do to you wha' I did tuh-to him!" He ended on a shout, voice hoarse and cracking, desperation ringing throughout the room.

Yassen felt his heart clench. To hear such terror from a mouth so like Johns…

It was then, as the room stilled and every breath was held, that he realised the buzzing he heard was not just from the wires.

A man – _Ian _– sped to a halt through the open door. He quickly assessed the situation, examining every inch of the room, and coming to a stop at his nephew. "Alex…" He breathed, relieved to _finally _see the boy after so much time; and yet, filled with dreadful worry as blood still dripped from the chubby face.

Alex's eyes went wide, mouth slack. "Eee… Ian..?"

The blond man nodded, crouching down in front of the boy. "It's me, Alex. I'm here. _I'm here._"

Alex's face crumpled, a deep sob wracking his body. He threw the wires far away, and collapsed into his Uncle's outstretched arms. "Ee- Uh – Eeiahn… Ah- I thought – I thought you wuh-weren't –"

"I'm here – I'll _always _be here for you…" Ian enveloped Alex in his arms as the boy buried his head into the man's torso, not caring that blood and tears soaked his clothes and smudged onto his neck – because it was Alex – _Alex Alex Alex_, his mind chanted; alive and breathing and _safe_.

A man behind the pair spoke, and it took Ian a few moments to process what was said over the sound of his nephew's sobs. His eyes narrowed as he quickly raised his head, turning to the door.

"What…?" He began, but stopped, as he met nothing but air.

Yassen was gone.

_My debt to you is repaid._

But his message had stayed.

He stared out the door for a few seconds, before his watch beeped, causing him to glance down at it, cursing in Italian. The numbers 5:00 flashed before him.

"Come on, Alex…" He murmured, lifting the boy into his arms and sped down the corridor. "We've got five minutes until the cameras stop looping…" But by then, Alex had already passed out in the embrace; from exhaustion, mentally or physically… Ian was determined to make it better.

_You won't ever be defenceless again,_ he silently promised.

* * *

Muddled sounds and sensations began to return to him – the soft feel of mattress beneath him, warm air and sunlight. Voices came into focus.

"_- traces of toxins in his –"_

" – _be alright? –" _(Was that the sound of his Uncle's voice?)

"_- fine, the body's processed –"_

"_- uhmen –"_

"_-thunkahyohuh duhcthour–"_

Darkness descended upon Alex once more.

* * *

The sound of metal tearing and wheels screeching was something the assassin would never forget; that one, heart stopping moment, heated metal between both hands, held still as bullets exploded forth.

And Ian – jerking in his seat - crimson spraying, painting the car a new red; that slack-jawed, wide eyed look of _you killed me, you bastard._

The sound of the helicopter, blades roaring above him, was drowned out by his own amusement; Yassen realised, with a smirk, that for taking Alex's only living relative… Well, he owed him a sort of debt again, didn't he? (How old would that little blond boy with wide brown eyes be now? Fourteen? Fifteen?)

The Russian idly wondered when he'd next have to pay it off. Really, he thought with a wry grin; it's all about karmic balance.

_El fin._


End file.
